


Floor It

by Needs_More_Lesbians



Category: Corpse Party (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, ayushiki, nerds falling in love while also running away from their problems, runaways - Freeform, the road trip au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Needs_More_Lesbians/pseuds/Needs_More_Lesbians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when faced with revenge-bent ghosts and inevitable doom, the best thing to do is hotwire a car and try to forget your better judgement. And-between all of the traffic violations, shoplifting and Top Forty Radio, Ayumi figures that maybe this isn't the worst mistake she's ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of "What If" scenario right before the events which preceded Blood Drive where, instead of trying to fix everything, Yoshiki convinces Ayumi to simply get the hell out before things get any worse. Because man oh man do I need more Runaway AU's in my life.

There was something familiar about what his hands did while he hotwired a car. His fingers danced rapidly into the car handle, jimmying it out and coaxing through the lock as persuasively as a politician. He’d said it would be easy, because it was an old model, and that much Ayumi could see. The car, a Ford with chipped paint and a rusted fender, looked like a kind word hadn’t been spoken to it in ages. The flaking coat was a dark green, but it was hardly recognizable what with all of the scratches that marred the shade. She’d been surprised that Yoshiki had selected that car when there were so many nicer ones, but he’d told her with an annoying know-it-all sort of look that beat up cars were hardly ever stolen and that less people would pay it mind.

He flew into the driver’s seat as soon as the aging handle gave way, pliers already in hand as he set to bunching out the wiring from the dashboard like a collection of organs in the hands of a surgeon. Ayumi stood on the sidewalk with her eyes frantically searching around them for some sign of another presence, shifting her weight from foot to foot during what had to be the longest ten seconds of her life. There was a silence broken only by Yoshiki shifting about and the crickets hidden away just out of sight, serenading the starry sky. It was a situation the classroom representative would have never imagined herself in a month, or even a week ago. Even if her opinion of her companion had softened significantly due to the nightmarish experiences they had shared, hotwiring a car and running away hadn’t exactly been in her plans a week ago.

He had been the one to suggest it, funnily enough. As soon as Ayumi had discovered that she and Naomi had done the ritual incorrectly and had loosed yet more evil onto the world, she had gone to Yoshiki. Aside from Satoshi, he was really the only other person who knew of the situation.

The fair-haired boy had watched her talk, face stern and quiet as she talked about oncoming torrent and he’d simply said, “What if we ran away?”

She thought the idea ridiculous and completely uncharacteristic. Leave? Just hope to outrun the shadows and leave everyone else to deal with the mess she had created again?

And then she remembered Hinoe’s blood, how it sunk into her clothes and never really got out even after she soaked it with bleach, and she remembered how yoshiki’s hand had gripped hers hard enough to hurt after they’d gotten separated once in the elementary of nightmares, and it struck her suddenly that they were both only eighteen.

And she’d looked at him and just said, “Okay.”

Which lead them here. Yoshiki had successfully overridden the possibility of failure and with a dull roar, the engine brought itself to life. He looked over to where she stood, tilted his head. “C’mon, then.” he said.

Carpe nocturn, Ayumi thinks to herself as she sat down in the passenger's side. Seize the night.

It was still early in June, and the stars lay thick and coated across the sky as Yoshiki drove much too fast below them like he was trying to catch up. The road was empty in the night, no sign of traffic as he switched lanes, eased up the speedometer slowly but surely while the highway stretched forward to touch the horizon’s distant promise of rain.

She’s running away with Yoshiki Kinshinuma, and even if the thought sort of makes her laugh, at least it's’ a good night for it.

Yoshiki’s fingers drum absently on the steering wheel. His whole posture is radiating nervousness, from the stiffness in his shoulders to the way he keeps glancing in the rear view mirror to her and back again like he’s going to lose track of either one if he isn’t careful. Ayumi is reminded just slightly of the legend of Icarus and can’t help but wonder if this little escapade was just some brilliant show of pride on both their parts and they would soon come crashing straight down in a flurry of feathers and discarded engine parts. It wasn’t really as if they could outrun supernatural forces forever, could they? If she had learned anything from a failed charm and weeks spent in the Elementary School from Hell, it was that some things were just too big to be reckoned with and they always met with a sticky fate in the end.

But maybe she’s willing to risk it just this once. After all, she honestly couldn’t think of a time where Yoshiki let her get into any trouble even if she did rack her brains about it.

All the same, her heart is beating fast from the thrill of doing something illegal, as well as the knowledge that her friends and her mother were all going to be worried sick once news of this reached back home. Even if Yoshiki doesn’t have anyone to really worry about leaving behind, with parents having disowned him early on and little friends to speak of, that doesn’t make leaving an easy choice for her. If anything, she was starting to regret it just slightly when she pictures the worried look on her Mother’s face once she finds the empty bedroom. Ayumi had left a note, not that it would do very much good in explaining things like ghosts and revenge that spanned across death, and as far as she knew Yoshiki hadn’t left anything. She’d written something else for Naomi and Satoshi, both of whom she was certain would probably smack her across the head if she ever came back. It was a reckless choice and probably a bad one, but as miles flew past them with Yoshiki bumping up the needle to seventy, there wasn’t too much she could do about it.

As if in sync, he speaks up over the steady scream of the engine. “They’ll understand why.”

She smiles, but it's’ humorless and fake. “Will they?”

Yoshiki doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t really expect him to know anyway.

They drive in silence a long time, stopping only a few times to get gas. Yoshiki grabs a pizza from the gas station that smells like it's’ been processed at least twenty times, and she wrinkles her nose when he passes her a slice and demands that she eat it.

It tastes disgusting, but her stomach hurts and so she eats it anyway.

Neither of them talk. Yoshiki’s turned on the radio at some point that Ayumi, lost in thought and worry and regret, doesn’t remember. She was simply snapped back from the voiding gap between things she’d been thinking and things she’d actually told her friends back home to find that the pluckyness of acoustic guitar and the twang of a voice lets her know that Yoshiki has found the Johnny Cash station.

She doesn’t like Johnny Cash, but the noise fills a bit of the space between some of the regrets and so she lets it play. Yoshiki doesn’t sing even though she knows he probably could pretty well if he wanted to, but his head nods back and forth while he drives, eyes focused on the road ahead. Ayumi doesn’t smile, but simply rests her chin in her hand and looks back out to the window.

Their school bags are in the backseat, Yoshiki’s old and used and torn in a few places, and Ayumi’s well-loved but also well managed. A few changes of clothes, a sketchbook, a candle and set of tarot cards is all Ayumi brings while running away. It’s more than Yoshiki, who had brought only an extra jacket, a pack of cigarettes that Ayumi will never let him smoke, and the guitar case that sits like a spare body in the back.

The sun dusts gold across the horizon after a little while, and it strikes Ayumi suddenly that they’ve driven through the remainder of night and straight into morning. The sun is harshly bright through the window, lighting up the stretch of asphalt worn grey with use, yellow striping along ahead like that kid’s story about the yellow brick road. She glances at Yoshiki once more and sees that he’s squinting hard against the glare and it’s only then that she chuckles a little, reaches up and tugs down the sun visor which rests above his seat.

He blinks a few times in the newfound shade before grunting his thanks.

Ayumi lean her temple against the glass and counts the stars as they vanish.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe these chapters will not be in any sort of chronological order, but just a series of one shots surrounding this scenario. I apologize for the wait and hope you enjoy!

He’s been quiet all night.

 

You don’t suppose that’s anything particularly unusual. Yoshiki usually is quiet on a day to day basis, and tonight is hardly an exception. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed the two of you have been forced to share because it was the only one left and you’re far too considerate to make him sleep on the floor.

 

You’d asked him some hours prior if he was going to sleep, and he’d said yes, but he hasn’t really moved since. It isn’t until you wake up a good amount of time later and see that he’s standing near the window and staring out at the neon sign of your hotel room that you decide enough is enough.

 

You get out of bed as quietly as you can, the oversized t-shirt you wore to sleep in looking more like a set of robes with your admittedly short stature. If he hears you, he doesn’t respond. His forearm is resting up against the windowsill, hand dangling loose from his wrist. His eyes are gazing out of the window, looking darker than normal in the eerie purple lighting from the sign, casting his face in a mix of color that makes him look pale. You can tell by the fact his hair is untidy that he was actually sleeping, at least for a little bit, Still, as you come to stand beside him, one thing about his expression stands out to you.

 

He looks so, so tired.

 

There aren’t any visible bags under his eyes, but there doesn’t need to be in order for you to see it. His brow is creased and he stares out of the window like he’s looking at a world he’s doomed to want to change.

 

You can’t help it, and you lay a hand on her arm, his skin surprisingly old against your palm. “Yoshiki?”

 

He doesn’t startle at your touch, merely exhales through his nose, his shoulders slumping. He still doesn’t look at you.

 

You try again. “Are you alright?”

 

This time he smiles, but it’s hollow and twisted. “I will be.”

 

You feel your chest catch. Not because you know he’s lying, but because you now understand all too well that haunted expression. You wore it every time you were around scissors, or stared at the shadows for too long. 

 

Yoshiki had a nightmare again.

 

“What was the dream about?” you ask, fighting to sound casual. His response shatters any illusion of lightness, however.

 

“You.” he replies quietly, eyes fixed out the window. “They’re always about you.”

 

Unconsciously, you feel your fingers curl into the sleeve of his t-shirt. It scares you, sometimes, how much you apparently mean to this boy. It just makes thinking about the hellish school all the more unbearable.

 

For a moment, you’re fighting to pick something to say. Thousands of possibilities are trying to claw through your mouth. For simplicities sake, you settle on, “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

That tired look is back on his face again, more heartbreaking than ever as he responds in a broken little whisper. “I don’t know.”

 

You don’t know, either.

 

You like to talk your way through things. It’s how you process the world around you, through verbal exploration. Sometimes you even just talk to yourself, muttering ideas under your breath as you pace up and down the hallway to your room in search of inspiration that sometimes strikes and sometimes doesn't.

 

Yoshiki doesn’t think that way, though. Yoshiki thinks quietly. You can tell he’s doing it when his brow furrows up and a hand runs through his hair, tracing circles into the nape of his neck. That’s when he’s thinking particularly hard about something.

 

You know he dreams about you dying a lot. You dream about it, too, sometimes. You’ll wake up in the pressing darkness of your room with the memory of ash and his clothes scorching your hands even as you hold onto him so tightly he can’t even think about dying or disappearing. You’ll wake up with the scent of smoke still in your nose and tears already running down your face.

 

This boy always made you cry.

 

You swallow thickly, looking out at the night alongside him. Your hand is still on his arm because he hasn’t asked you to move it and you like it being there. It’s solid and tangible, an unconscious reminder that you’re both still here.

 

“...I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him.

 

Finally, he turns to look at you directly. His eyes, still that bright blue, seem to search intently through your expression for some hint that you’re just saying this for his benefit. Maybe at one point you would have-lying to make people feel better was a habit of yours.

 

But for once, you find that this is something you know to be true because you just want it that way. You don’t want to go anywhere. You want to stay right here with him, either in the car or in cheap motels or in the middle of a city or the desert.

 

Because you like being here.

 

“You sure?” he asks, sounding rather helpless, uncharacteristically frail. Without thinking, your hand driftsto his face in order to push the fringe of bangs out of his eyes. His hair has grown a little unkempt after the weeks you’ve been on the road, a bit of darker color showing at his scalp where once upon a time, Yoshiki Kishinuma had dark black hair. Your fingers linger a minute at his cheekbone before slipping back to your side.

 

“I’m sure.”

 

He doesn’t smile, but something in his face seems to relax as the words leave your mouth. It’s nearly imperceptible, but you can still catch it. He looks a little less strained, a step further away from breaking.

 

“Come on,” you say, lightly reaching out and taking him by the wrist. “It’s late. You’re exhausted.”

 

He, for once, doesn’t argue. He just lets you lead him back to the bed, where you finally release his wrist once you’re near enough to crawl back under the covers.

 

For once, you’re suddenly very much aware of how close he is. He’s settled on his back to your right, and you can just faintly make out the curve of his nose in profiled silhouette. His hair has fallen back from his face a bit, too, and it wisps out in untidy strands.

 

You fall asleep facing him.

 

You wake up the next morning to sunlight streaming in and reflecting off of his hair, which is a lot closer than you remember. Groggily, you attempt to adjust before realizing you’ve somehow wrapped your arm around his torso and pressed your face into the crook of his neck. You can feel his breath, still slow and even, brushing against your scalp with each exhale.

 

For fear of waking him, you don’t move.

 

He wakes up a little while later, the both of you dress, and neither of you address it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to What P.O.V is this anyway, where the narritive never stays the same and the tense doesn't matter.
> 
> But in all seriousness, thank you for bearing with me through the various style changes and narrative issues this fic has. One of these days I'll go back and make it all consistent, but it is not this day.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy it!!

Sunlight is streaming in through the window, illuminating half of Yoshikis face. His eyes, light blue, seem almost piercing when he glances up.

Not that Ayumi notices.

She shifts in her seat to face backwards, arms propped against the back of the faded leather. He doesn’t seem to notice, his attention focused on the beat-up six string on his lap. The guitar is old, bearing scratches and dings from what must be years of use. The strings still make a pleasant noise when he strums, though slightly out of tune, the pitch climbing up like an old man up a stairwell. The bandage on his thumb makes the strumming softer, reducing the force he’s able to apply.

“I didn’t know you played,” she comments, her cheek resting atop the seat. Yoshiki looks up, and she’s once again caught off guard by just how blue his eyes are.

“Only a little.” His mouth quirks upward in a little smile that she returns.

Interactions between the two of them have altered a little since the hotel incident that they’d both nonverbally swore never to speak of again. They’d gone gentler, somehow. It wasn’t as if they exchanged conversation too often about anything that wasn’t immediately relevant. He never spoke of his family and she never asked. She never talked about what exactly had transpired to make her run away, and he didn’t ask about that, either. 

The thought makes her brow furrow in thought. “Strange,” she says softly, only half aware that she’s speaking out loud.

The comment makes him look up, expression guarded but curious. “What’s that?”

She’s hesitant to linger on the subject. The easiest thing would be to just drop the topic and say it was nothing. He wouldn’t ask anything else. Still, the genuine interest in his face prompts her to give an explanation.

“It’s just that…” She pauses, searching for wording. “I’d trust you with my life, but I still don’t know your favorite color, or what music you like to listen to, or if you have any siblings.”

The quirk of his brow only threw the stupid simplicity of the observation into relief. “You want to know my favorite color?”

“No, idiot, it’s not like that.” She sighs in frustration. “It’s just...I don’t know. I feel like I know you better than anybody but I also don’t know you well at all.”

“There isn’t much to tell.” His attention goes back to his guitar as he strikes a chord, as if in experimentation.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Ayumi grumbles, turning back around in her seat. “Just forget I said anything.”

The silence, which might have been tense, is distilled by the repetitive strumming as Yoshiki plays a quiet tune, one she doesn’t recognize. It’s a little while before he speaks.

“Red.”

She furrows her brow and looks back to him. “What?”

“My favorite color. It’s red.”

He looks up, meeting her eyes with a small shrug. 

“You gonna tell me yours now?”

The answer leaves her mouth before she can think. “Blue.”

Ayumi shuts her mouth immediately afterward. It’s not true. Her favorite color is purple, it had been since the age of four. But as soon as they’d met eyes, she’d said blue.

Yoshiki notices the reaction. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, turning back around to hide her now burning face.

What the hell was wrong with her?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff to break up all that angst :D

Ayumi has been quieter than normal.

He doesn’t think it has anything to do with him, although there always seems to be an insistent voice in the back of his head that insisted everything was somehow his fault. Yoshiki figured it had been there since Heavenly Host, or maybe since being kicked out of his house. Either way, it was apparent, and it whispered to him every time Ayumi avoided his gaze or answered his questions only in short, concentrated bursts.

It’s bothering him.

They’d entered the city a few days ago, and Yoshiki can feel himself breathe in the life of it every time they go outside. He’s used to this landscape, with the neon signs bordering the edges of the streets and reflecting in rain-washed asphalt. He knows all the dark alleys and secrets. He’s been living alone so long that almost all cities appeared the same to him.

Ayumi is less confident. She jumps at loud noises and doesn’t like it when he makes her jaywalk. He sticks to the pavement for her sake even as he’s itching to just dash across, weave between cars like the light-crazed teenager he is.

She took his hand a little while ago, when the streets grew more crowded. She hasn’t let go yet.

He hasn’t asked her to, either.

The leather jacket isn’t doing much to keep him warm, and the darkening sky seems to threaten rain with every step they take. He can feel Ayumi shivering, as well, though he doesn’t point it out because he’s sure she’ll just insist she was fine.

Yoshiki turns his head a fraction to the side in order to look at her, and wishes he could know what she was thinking. The various headlights and ship-signs illuminate her face, shadows playing across her jaw and sparking up contrast in her eyes. She’s walking with a stern, almost uncomfortable expression, her jaw tight. She doesn’t like it here.

But still, the city seems to suit her okay.

Eventually, Ayumi catches his eye and for a second he almost catches a tinge of red at her face. She’s quick to look away again.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says in a voice that’s scarcely audible over the cars.

Yoshiki lifts his brows. Her fingers feel small and warm between his. “Like what?”

She looks at him again, expression unreadable and seemingly conflicting. She looks as if she’s about to say something before her gaze returns to her feet. “Just don’t.”

Yoshiki doesn’t press it. His grip on her hand slackens, figuring she wouldn’t want to keep that up after the short exchange, but her grip only tightens.

Ayumi Shinozaki is a hell of a riddle.

Still, there’s a smile quirking the corner of his mouth as they continue walking, a smile he can almost see reflected in her face if he looks out of his peripheral vision. 

“Where exactly are we going, actually?” She asks after a short span of silence.

A grin unfurls on his face at the question, and he turns to refocus on her face. “We’re gonna go eat, Shinozaki.”

The humor in his voice seems to set her on edge, and her eyes narrow. “You’re planning something. We don’t have money, and there’s no ATM to stop at yet.”

“We won’t need that.”

Dining and dashing is a skill Yoshiki perfected at the age of fifteen, typically at fast-food restaurants past midnight. He hasn’t tried it at an actual sit-down place before, but something about the night air and the muffled music playing from the cluster of apartments on the other side of the street and Ayumi’s hand in his makes him feel strangely invincible.

Besides, he’d managed to escape a cursed school with his skin still intact. This wouldn’t be a problem.

Ayumi seems to have been following his train of thought because she stops, tugging him over to the side of the pavement nearest the buildings. Her gaze is accusatory and half disbelieving as she lets go of his hand, placing it instead on his arm to halt him.

“We’re going to leave without paying?!”

He rolls his eyes. “Say it a little louder, Ayumi, maybe that way the entire street can hear you this time.”

He doesn’t notice the way her face heats up when he refers to her by her first name. “That’s not the point, it’s...That’s...That’s not legal!”

“Neither is my smoking habit,” Yoshiki says with a shrug. “Neither was the two of us running away. What’s your point?” He can see arguments sparking in her eyes, and he sighs heavily to abate it. “Look, we’re both tired and hungry. The car’s in sight. We don’t have the money to spend, and we’re in a rich part of town. These people aren’t going to be overly affected if two people get some food for free. Besides, we’ll never be stopping here again.”

Ayumi opens her mouth and shuts it again. Yoshiki keeps his gaze on her, level and steady.

“Trust me. We’ll be fine.”

He sees something unidentifiable flicker in her eyes, only for a moment before it vanishes. Ayumi turns back to the sidewalk, not taking his hand again, but sticking close to his side as they begin to walk again.

“....Only because you sound so sure.”

He’s taken aback by the short argument. He’d been expecting to waste almost ten minutes or so trying to convince her. Maybe it’s because they’d been relying on each other, even before this trip, so unquestionably and without hesitation that Ayumi trusts him so easily. It’s unexpected, but upon a bit of reflection, Yoshiki finds that if she had asked him for help with something, he wouldn’t even ask what she needed. He’d just do it.

It was comforting. But it was also a bit scary.

Yoshiki distracts himself by selecting a restaurant, a tall building he reads as a Chinese place. It’s sitdown, something he’d been counting on because his legs feel stiff from walking so long. It doesn’t take long for them to be seated, not too many patrons interested in dinner at nearly eight at night. Yoshiki has to catch himself from laughing when he and Ayumi take their seats, facing each other, a little candle flickering on the table between them.

It’s almost like a date.

Maybe Ayumi thinks so, too, because she quickly engrosses herself in her water glass and doesn’t look at him.

At length, Yoshiki decides the ice in his class isn’t the only thing that needs to be crushed. “Alright,” he says, straightening up in a matter-of-fact sort of way. “You gonna tell me what I did wrong?”

Ayumi blinks, actually looking somewhat bewildered at the question. “I’m sorry, what?”

The genuine confusion in her voice makes him second-guess himself, and his brow furrows. “You know. The not talking, the whole looking into the distance thing. You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

Ayumi shakes her head. “Hardly. I’ve just...I’ve had a few things on my mind.”

He reaches out to run a finger along the fog gathered on his glass. “Like?”

Here, she seemed to hesitate. Her gaze flickered away. It occurs to Yoshiki, suddenly, that he’s been asking too many questions, so he shuts up and focuses on the droplets gathering on the table instead.

“...Just everyone back home. If they’re okay.”

His expression softens. Of course. Even now, it was so very much like Ayumi to place everyone else’s needs before her own even when they were miles and miles away. Not to mention that there’s an unspoken name that hovers in the air between them like a spirit.

“I’m sure Satoshi’s fine.” His voice is deceptively easy, reassuring.

Ayumi looks shocked for a moment, then confused. Then, just as expected, a small smile forms on her face.

She always smiles like that when she’s thinking of him. It had happened several times in Heavenly Host, and he’s familiar enough to recognize the way her gaze darts shyly to the table, the faint blush at her cheekbones.

Jealousy, relentless and childish, turns over in his stomach.

“Do you want to know something, Yoshiki?”

The use of his first name isn’t lost on him, and his gaze darts up to find that she’s looking at him, eyes brighter and clearer across the table than they’ve been in a few days.

Uncertain, he swallows. “Do I?”

She lifts her glass to her lips. “I haven’t thought about him since we left. Not once.”

He’s stunned.

The food comes, and they eat in silence. Yoshiki’s gotten a bit of everything, and Ayumi is devouring both her serving and some of his with a reckless enthusiasm. They eventually pick up the conversation again, swapping light-hearted stories regarding their old classmates and a few misadventures Seiko had dragged him into. Yoshiki is surprised when she’s able to talk about Seiko without feeling water burn in his eyes.

He hasn’t been able to do that, but as soon as he realizes he has been, the tears start anyway. Laughter dies in his throat and his gaze goes unfocused, and he’s left staring at his empty place with the loss of Seiko stabbing at him.

A hand rests over his, suddenly, and he looks up to see Ayumi regarding him with a small, sad smile. “I miss her, too. It’s okay.”

He blinks back the emotion for the time being and returns the smile with a crooked one of his own.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that they are close enough to kiss. He quickly sits back and Ayumi mirror the action, her hand withdrawing to her lap instead.

The bill comes and, with a quick glance to the door to see if the exit is clear, the two of them dash out.

Predictably, Yoshiki catches the ringing voice of one of the waiters shouting after them, so he snatches Ayumi’s wrist to tug her further down the streets. The two weave through darkened streets, sometimes ducking into a store to throw off the trail.

Ayumi’s laughter, high-pitched and loud and musical, rings in his ears the whole time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter, but I think it gets the point across ;D

Rain taps against the car window in percussive torrents, drops racing each other down the glass. A sheet of fog clouds the corner of the window from breath as Yoshiki flicks his lighter. The blued steel accent the orange glow of the sparks as he clicks once, twice, calloused thumb flicking the wheel until a small flame sputters into life. He dips the fire down to the wick of a tall, whitewax candle resting on the dashboard of the car. The wick blossoms to cast dancing shadows across his face.

His eyes are still that light blue as he looks up to regard Ayumi with a small, tight smile,

“Got a ghost story for us, Shinozaki?”

Her shoulders tense, gaze averting. “That’s not funny anymore, Kishinuma.”

His smile fades, something she finds both satisfying and disappointing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

She hates his automatic guilt, the was his confidence seems to dissipate as soon as he thinks he’s upset her. “No, it’s…” She slumps back against the seat. “You’re fine, Yoshiki. I’m just tired.”

The use of his first name softens him in a way that might be almost imperceptible. She supposes she’s just known him for that long. Ayumi has somehow become fluent in his language, a soft-spoken dialect of stray glances and quiet sighing.

Ayumi watches as he cups his palm around the candlelight, fingers outstretched. He looks strangely soft, blurred around the edges as if lost gently in his own thoughts, and her breath catches in her throat as she recalls all the missed birthdays, the offhanded comments about stealing food from his parents house like that was supposed to be normal, and it hits her all at once that Yoshiki Kishinuma-who yelled and got into fights and always called his baby sister on Sundays-was a victim of neglect.

The rain hits a steady crescendo, seeming to drown out rational thought. Yoshiki glances up to offer a small smile, crooked and a little strained like it always is.

Ayumi suddenly can’t breathe.

Maybe it’s the way the rain is loud enough to drain rational thought, or maybe it’s the shadows playing across his face, or the light touch of humor in his eyes when he catches her staring and asks “What?”

There’s a second in the orange-streaked darkness in the car where Ayumi is halfway between floating and falling, when the air rushes past in either silent encouragement or discouragement. He doesn’t demand answers to problems like this one. He works his way through them like he’s peeling back layers of an oil painting.

Eventually he seems to give up, because he looks back through the windshield, the rain continuing to strike percussion against the glass. The tinted blue sky outside sparks and mixed with the candle-flame, casting his face in idyllic contradiction.

And for a second, she thinks she might love him.

The thought comes suddenly and without warning, as most thoughts often do. Ayumi is quick to turn her gaze out of the window, in a well-placed attempt to conceal her expression.

Beside her, Yoshiki’s voice pipes up again. “I think we should get off the highway for a bit.Maybe head someplace out near the countryside, where it’s quieter..”

His voice is a comforting lull that she only half pays attention to, because her mind is spinning as rapidly as a top. She remembers a handful of situations that seem like they’d happened ages ago, quips of conversation in class or in the abandoned school, remembers the sickening jolt her heart had given when he’d fallen to the floor, his head bleeding, and the blood that had stuck to her palms as she’d tried to catch him. She remembers him not coming to school on the first day after it had happened, remembers the way her chest had constricted, her breaths shortening, because if he wasn’t there then where was he?

“...And I like the grass. I figure maybe we could keep going until we hit the ocean again.”

She’s looking at him again, now, and he’s idly tapping a set of bandaged fingers against the dashboard-he hadn’t played guitar for a while until this trip and the callouses were welling up again. The hair at the back of his neck looks soft and downy and she wants to place her hand there, just light, slip down until she’s cupping the back of his neck and…

“Would you like that?”

Ayumi blinks.

Yoshiki is looking at her, seeming to have finished his statement for now. He looks expectant, likely awaiting a reply.

 

She gives the first one she thinks of. “I’ll go wherever you want to be.”

 

Her cheeks burn as soon as the sentence leaves her mouth because it’s cliche and overrated and sappy and she both hates and loves that he makes her get that way. Yoshiki quirks a brow, as if rather surprised at the sheer willingness to follow. She’s not sure why it surprises him so much. She’d follow him anywhere, if she was being honest with herself, and with all the odd towns and bustling cities it seems like she already has. 

“That settles that, then.” His voice seems satisfied as he turns back around in his seat, a hand reaching up to rest on the steering wheel.

Yoshiki likes driving. He said so a few weeks ago when they’d first started this insane adventure, that the hum of the motor calms him and helps him focus. It’s a little trait she might have guessed at before he even mentioned it. He seems like that sort of person.

She supposes, somehow, that Yoshiki himself is like that hum of the motor. He’s constant, a presence that does little to hinder or help her, but is always there to fall back on if she needs him.

And she does need him.

He leans forward to blow out the candle with a sharp gust of air from his lungs, his arm reaching forward to turn the key in the ignition. Ayumi settles her palm at the fabric of his sleeve before he does.

Yoshiki pauses, gaze flickering to her. “Yes?”

There aren’t words. Ayumi prides herself on being eloquent. She was the class representative, after all. She could write and deliver speeches as easily as breathing or writing her name down. Adults didn’t scare her, neither did large crowds.

But Yoshiki terrified her.

It’s not because he smokes or swears or gets into fights. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s taller than her or doesn’t ever write his parents or was planning on dropping out before the two of them were forced to leave.

It’s that he means enough to her that when he asked her to abandon everyone in their town and come with him, she hadn’t thought about it for more than five minutes before she said yes.

Maybe it’s that line of thought that drives the next action, like gas to a motor, thrumming and pounding in her chest. Maybe it’s because the air still smells like sulfur from the extinguished candle and the smoke is trailing skyward, or that Yoshiki’s eyes are just so blue.

But in the same space of time it takes for her heart to beat once, Ayumi surges forward and presses her mouth against his faint half-smile.

Ayumi Shinozaki is a high schooler. Like all high-schoolers, she’s had a few choice daydreams about kissing boys. In each of these juvinile fantasies the situation remaind similar-her and the mystery boy would have just finished a fun date, maybe at the movies or at lunch, and he would have walked her back to her home. They would have stood side by side on the porch and she’d act coy and shy, tuck her bangs back a bit, and then he’d lean closer.

Over time, Ayumi had cast Satoshi as this mystery boy, because Satichi was polite and good-looking and everything she found safe.

Yoshiki wasn’t like that.

Yoshiki is the breath before the plunge, he’s reckless and he gets into trouble and he’s not safe, maybe, but as her hand reaches up to rest at the back of his neck, she notes that he feels remarkably similar to home.

The kiss is too short for her to gauge if he kisses back, but his cheeks are flushes just slightly as she pulls away enough to look at him, his eyes shut, motionless. There are a few stray bits of hair near his scalp that look darker than the rest of his hair because he hasn’t bleached it in a while, and sunlight touches the side of his face and he looks too good not to kiss again so she does.

This time, Yoshiki definitely kisses back. His lips are chapped and a bit ragged, not soft, but they seem to fit well. She hears his jacket rustle as he reaches to set the palm of his hand between her shoulderblades. 

He’s incredibly gentle. She can’t say she’s really thought about kissing Yoshiki before this moment, but if she had, gentle wouldn’t have been the word that might have come to mind. Whether that’s because of the stereotype she’d ascribed to him before Heavenly Host or simply because it was a guess, she isn’t sure. But he’s impossibly careful, as if even now he’s silently asking permission, terrified to disappoint or fall short of expectation.

Because everyone has expectations he’s failed to meet. That’s clear when she pulls away to press her forehead against his, eyes still closed, his breath smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. Her hands have found his hair, and her fingers wind gently through some of the stray locks, and Yoshiki gives a soft sigh as if he’s been starving for this sort of attention.

Everyone’s wanted something for him. Miss Yui wanted him to go to college, his parents wanted him to be different, Ayumi had wanted him to stick to the image in her head she’d created.

Now, though, she doesn’t want anything except for him.

His hand at her back is warm even through the fabric of her shirt. When she opens her eyes again he’s looking right at her, steady and focused as if attempting to search for something.

She smiles, just a little.

Yoshiki’s voice is quiet and almost shy when he speaks. “...So candles really do it for you, huh?”

Ayumi laughs, reaching up to thud her fist against his shoulder in a weak attempt at a punch, her forehead dipping down to tuck her face next to his collarbone. His jacket smells a little bit like fresh rain, likely from the storm outside.

“I hate you,” she mumbles, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She feels his cheek rest against the top of her head, and doesn't need to look to know he's smiling.

“I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! My apologies for the weight, but I've been formulating a cohesive plot for this story and I'm very excited for you all to read it. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, where things start to get rolling ;) 
> 
> It's gonna be exciting!!!

The scent of blood, metallic and cloying, stuck to the inside of Yoshiki’s mouth with each step he walked. The hair at the back of his neck was standing upright, as if attempting to coax him into turning back, and had it not been for the fingers interlocking his, he would have by now.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” he cursed. “Have you got a candle?”

Ayumi’s voice is quiet, and he caught a hint of fear at the bottom of her words. “No, but…”

There’s three quiet clicks and then a small flame flickers into life, casting an orange glow across her face. Her hair looks like a dark black as the two of them continue down the corridor, nothing but a small lighter to try and illuminate the path ahead.

Suddenly, Yoshiki holds his arm in front of her, drawing them to a sudden halt.

“What is it?”

He thought the floor was just damp with mold and rainwater, but as Yoshiki wordlessly holds his hand out for the lighter, he realizes that the wetness isn’t water at all. It is, rather, the source of the metallic scent.

Abruptly, the hand in his vanishes.

“Shinozaki?” He holds the lighter overhead, trying his best to try and illuminate as much of the hall as he can. There’s nothing but darkness ahead and behind him, stone walls bordering his left and right, blood spattered on the floor as if someone had been trying to crawl with a grave injury. The mental image sends a chill down his back. 

“Where the hell are you?” Annoyance is making his shoulders tense, but there’s a sense of worry that seems to make the scent of blood thicker, until he can no longer even smell the stone walkway at his feet. She can’t have gone far, and the hallway begins to grow lighter until he can clearly see both walls as well as the floor as if the sun had somehow entered the hall.

Wait a moment. How was that probable? All he had for light was a lighter…

Yoshiki lowered his hand to find he was no longer holding one.

His hand had caught aflame.

A hoarse shout echoed across the hall as a white-hot pain engulfed his fingers and palm, crawling up his arm with rapid speed. The scent of burning skin and clothes replaced the scent of blood as he scrambled back, frantically shaking his arm in an attempt to douse out the flames. This, illogically, seemed to encourage the progress of the fire until it had engulfed his right arm entirely. The pain was singing, growing to a kind of stinging numbness as his nerves were fried away, skin turning to dark charcoal.

He crumpled, knees hitting the bloodstained stone.

“ _Yoshiki!!_

With a jolt his semi-conscious mind wanted to blame on his fall to the ground, Yoshiki bolts upright, his hand blindly snatching onto what felt like an arm, his heart beating frantically. His breath came in ragged, sob-like gasps, his arm still searing in pain. A cuss word, half mangled beneath gasps of breath, claws its’ way from his mouth. It is followed by another, then another until Yoshiki was just chanting the word ‘Fuck’ under his breath and clinging to Ayumi’s arm.

He releases her once he realizes what he’s doing and lifts his shaking hands to his eyes, fingertips pressing against the side of his head. 

“Yosh...Listen. We’ve got to go. I’m sorry, we just...We have to go _now_.”

He claws himself from the aftereffects of the nightmare with a surprising lack of difficulty, probably owed to the sheer frequency of them. Chest still heaving, he scans the empty hotel room.

It’s still dark, maybe not even that late at night given the sheer lack of light from the outside. They’d slept in the same bed, hadn’t drawn much attention to it or made much of a proclamation. He had simply lain down and she had curled up beside him and that was that.

But even without being able to discern her expression, he can tell that something is wrong with Ayumi. The silhouette of her profile reveals that her jaw is tense and working, her shoulders and back held stiff and still. Dimly, he recalls only a portion of the dream, only the strong feeling that something had been missing, something important. Something he had to find.

He keeps his eyes trained on Auymi.

“Something’s wrong.” Her voice is convicted despite the fear that makes it tremble, and Yoshiki knows he needs to fight off the last of his agony in order to protect her from whatever is lurking in the shadows of the hotel room.

“We’ll go, then.” He reaches out, touches his fingers to hers. She doesn’t look at him, but her hand takes his and holds it tightly. The action is somehow familiar. Though he knows it’s mostly for her reassurance, he can’t help but derive a sense of comfort from the action.

He’s still a bit shaky, so she helps him stand even as her gaze searches the room, now only illuminated by a lamp at the bedside table. She’s wrapped in her own head, that much is for sure, to the point where he has to prompt her to get shoes on and gather the remainder of her things into the backpack she’d brought along. When she’s finished placing in the essentials: a sketchbook, deodorant, a city map, two small bottles filled with rock salt and sage respectively, and small bottle of pain medication, she takes his hand again.

The hallway outside of the hotel room is dark, the only source of light being the red ‘EXIT’ label at the end of the hall, casting a scarlet tint to the walls. The feeling is heavy in the hall outside their room, as if there is a sudden weight pressing down on his shoulders, and when Ayumi’s grip tightens on his hand, he notes that he might not be the only one noticing this.

Yoshiki takes a trembling breath, still trying to unwind from the nightmare, and forces himself to focus on the feeling of her hand in his, her fingertips pressing tight to the back of his hand, the way her thumb curls against the side of his wrist. The physical details ground him somewhat, returning him to the reality that this was just an empty hallway and it was just a stupid nightmare and the ghosts couldn’t follow them here. 

But if it’s just an empty hallway, why have neither of them walked forward?

Shaking the thought from his mind, Yoshiki takes a decisive step forward, tugging Ayumi along with him. She is hesitant, but stays close to his side, unwilling to be left behind. They just need to make it to the door, which isn’t even that far away, and get to the car, and it would be on to wherever the next town is. Besides, he has Ayumi to think of. 

His footsteps are eerily quiet on the carpeted floor as he walks forward to the exit, reaching out for the doorknob in order to twist the metal handle.

The handle doesn’t budge.

Yoshiki tries again, only met with the stubborn metallic disagreement. “What the hell?” he mutters feircely, before giving the door a sharp kick.

Ayumi suddenly presses her palm to his arm. “What?” he inquires, his tone sharp due to the frustration. For a moment there is no response.

Then…

“There’s someone behind us, Yoshiki.”

He whirls around and is met with a naked woman standing at the end of the hall.

The red lighting bounces off of her pale skin, casting it in a dull crimson color as if she’s being cast in some suureal music video.

Yoshiki shuts his eyes tightly, takes a breath, and begins counting to three.

One.

It isn’t there.

Two.

This is just another vision, a flashback, like the ones he got when he stayed in the science classroom at school for too long.

Three.

His eyes open again and she is even closer.

Her hair is short and black, reaching her chin and there is something very wrong about the way she is walking. It’s as if her spine has been stacked crooked on purpose, and the scent of rotting flesh becomes more and more evident as she approaches. His gaze darts downward and, with a feeling of nausea in his stomach, Yoshiki notes that her arms are barely clinging to her shoulders, only a few strands of muscle and sinew clinging them to her sockets.

Beside him, Ayumi’s breaths come uneven and rapid as her hand grows so tight that he feels his hand and arm start to tingle. Her other hand clings to the fabric of his tshirt as the ghost, or creature, begins to lurch closer.

And, suddenly, Yoshiki’s mind becomes eerily calm.

“Ayumi,” he says, voice steady and even. “Do you remember where the stairs are?”

In his peripheral vision, she gives a small nod. His heart clenches with the realization that the two of them are going through this yet again, that they never seem to get any goddamn breaks. THe whole situation stinks of deja-vu.

He swallows and steels his nerves. “When I say the world, you’re going to run to them and go down to the lobby. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Her head snaps around to look at him, her eyes wide and frantic. “What? No, I’m not leaving you behind!”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the shambling corpse. She’s not far, now.

“I said I’d meet you there.”

“No,” Her voice is desperate, almost a sob as she shakes her head. “No, I’m not leaving you.”

“ _GO!!_ ” He shoves her forward, palm ripping away from her grasp in order to push against the small of her back. She gives a shrill scream, but manages to duck the wide swing that the woman gives, small enough to bolt away between the space of the wall and the corpse. Relief floods his chest as she vanishes around the corner to the elevator space.

Yoshiki then positions his thumb on the outside of his fist and swings.

His knuckles collide with her cheek and sink into the flesh, as if the woman is made of wax rather than flesh and bone. Her head is knocked to the side, face turning away, and a bit of what looks almost like skin clings to his knuckles.

The corpse hisses out a putrid smelling breath, and then fastens her hands around Yoshiki’s neck.

He’s actually lifted off of his feet, back slammed against the wall as he kicks wildly. His airflow is cut off, the woman’s fingers digging into the sides of his neck, his chest stuttering as he fights to breathe.

No breath comes.

He continues kicking wildly, his fingernails actually ripping through her skin and exposing a white chunk of bone. If the thing feels pain, nothing registers on its’ face as it simply grasps him harder around the throat.

Spots dance in front of his eyes, the room silent aside from the occasional strangled gag as Yoshiki keeps fighting to breath. He’s collected gore beneath his fingernails, scratching against bone as he tries to pry himself free. Blood drenches his palms, spattering onto his t-shirt.

His jaw opens in a silent scream.

Then, there is a distinct thus of metal against skull and suddenly he can breathe again.

Yoshiki drops to the floor, catching himself with one hand before he can fall entirely backwards, his hand clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt over his chest. The thing has been knocked aside, and standing in its place is none other than Ayumi Shinozaki bearing a fire extinguisher.

The thing looks heavy in her hands, red cylinder almost as big as she is. Her expression is a mask of sheer fury and concentration, a startling mixture that Yoshiki recognizes only from Heavenly Host.

If the extinguisher is heavy, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she merely slams it back down upon the creature's head where it lands with a sickening squish. She lifts it up again over her head, bringing it down once more.

Blood soaks the carpet. The creature jerks, switches, and then moves no more.

Ayumi continues her methodical evisceration, slamming the canister down three more times as if in a trance. Yoshiki manages to stand, bracing his left hand against the wall, the other still resting at his sternum.

“Shinozaki…”

Another thud. Another dull squish.

“Ayumi, hey.” His voice is weak and hoarse, and each word threatens to send him into a coughing fit. He braces his hand against his knee for a second as he fights to catch his breath again. Ayumi finally stops her metronome, the canister coming to a final thus against the floor before she releases it and stands. A few drops of blood are spattered against her cheek and her eyes remained fixed on the corpse.

“It was killing you.”

Yoshiki lets out a few choking coughs before righting himself. They can’t stay here, not with what looks like a week old corpse between them, particularly when they’re both covered in blood. They need to get out and not stop driving until they hit the next county over.

“C’mon.”

He reaches from her hand, but she turns sharply before he can and leads the way to the stairs.

The anger in him seems to have died out, leaving him nothing but cold, confused, and a little lost. Ayumi doesn’t look at him for the remainder of their walk downstairs. The rest of their walk to the parking lot is strangely uneventful. The hotel is also seemingly empty.

When they reach the car, Ayumi finally turns to regard him. She looks rather frightening, blood still streaked across her cheekbone, her eyes blazing blue.

“You are such a goddamned _idiot_ sometimes, Yoshiki Kinshinuma.”

Yoshiki takes a startled step backward. “What? I didn’t-”

“Do you know what would have happened if I’d ran to the car like you’d said? Huh? _Do you?!_ ” She takes a few steps so she’s level with him, seizing a fistful of his bloodstained t-shirt. “Does anything get through that thick skull of yours?! If the two of us had both been there, none of this would have happened!”

She’s directly in his face, and he instinctively wants to back up, but her hands hold tight to the hem of his shirt so he can’t go anywhere. Part of him thinks this is a little unfair, given that he feels like a knife is lodged in his throat and it saws through him every time he breathes.

“Can this wait until we’re on the other side of town?” He asks, summoning his voice even though it hurts. “We don’t know what the hell that thing was or why it was there-”

“No it _can’t_ , you idiot!” Her voice raises to a shout as she removes one hand from his shirt in order to strike him once with a curled fist against his shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but the weight of it is slightly jarring. “You could have _died!_ She was _choking_ you, and you were going _limp_ and….”

Her voice crumples, dies for a moment. Her eyes are riveted on his neck, expression twisted like she’s about to start sobbing, and as his eyes catch the smear of red on her cheek, he realizes that she already is. 

He also realizes that this situation is strangely familiar.

“Shinozaki-”

“Never, _ever_ do something like that again, do you understand me?!”

Her voice is muffled in his chest as, all at once, her fist goes slack and her fingers grasp at his shirt as if terrified he will suddenly vanish away. The night around them is dark and cold, the only noise being the chirp of crickets and the occasional sob from Ayumi and his wheezing. She’s holding tight enough for it to put some unwanted pressure on his lungs, but he rests his cheek against the top of her head and takes her in his arms anyway. His throat burns and blood is trickling onto his collarbone from the indent of fingernails, but he holds Ayumi as tightly as he can. 

“You can’t ever do that,” she manages between breaths, shaking her head. “You can’t ever leave me like that again.”

His grip on her tightens. She smells like gore and sweat and the faintest trace of pomegranates.

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

He presses his lips to her hair, dark as the night around them.

“I promise.”


End file.
